


The Tutor

by VictoriaHolmesWriting



Series: The Baker Street Wizards [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, Gen, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Sherlock is in his Seventh Year, wizard!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23042758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaHolmesWriting/pseuds/VictoriaHolmesWriting
Summary: Landing himself in detention results in the most exhausting weeks of young Sherlock's life.
Series: The Baker Street Wizards [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655959
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	The Tutor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Requested by Mad for a fic of Sherlock and Malfoy interacting in a class

A very scorched-around-the-edges Sherlock stood in front of Professor Flitwick’s desk, staring down at the holes in his shoes. Which his Head of House would say _something_.

Flitwick sat, pinching the bridge of his nose, for several moments before finally speaking. “Please, tell me _again_ why you brewed an experimental potion recipe you knew would be unstable.”

Sherlock murmured something inaudible.

“Speak up, Holmes!”

The curly-headed Ravenclaw did not look up as he followed the order. “To prove it wouldn’t work,” he admitted, fully aware of how ridiculous it was.

Flitwick let out an unabashed, exasperated sigh.

“You brewed an unstable potion to prove it would be unstable?” 

“Yes.”

“For the love of Merlin! Why?”

If he wasn’t so determined to focus solely on the floor, Sherlock would have seen one of Flitwick’s legendary eyerolls he’d only heard from the seventh years on his sorting day. According to them, it puts both McGonagall and Snape to shame.

“Bored,” he stated simply.

“Well,” Flitwick said, “you’re not going to be bored for the next three weeks.”

~ ~ ~

Flickwick wasn’t joking, either.

The next few weeks proved to be a living hell for Sherlock. (And, no, he was not being overly dramatic, _Mycroft!_ )

Given the circumstances of Sherlock’s reprimand, Flitwick decided it would be appropriate to assign him to detention with Professor Snape. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in and of itself. In fact, Sherlock was one of the only students Snape actually liked.

However.

Arrogance to the point of incompetence was something Snape could not tolerate...or forgive.

And that’s exactly why he chose to punish Sherlock -- by assigning him to, on top of helping Snape in ALL his classes, tutor the most incompetent, arrogant twat in Slytherin House.  
Draco Malfoy.

Turns out, constantly trying to “thwart Potter” makes it impossible to study more than the passable basics and that’s not very helpful past Second Year. Apparently, Lucius Malfoy wasn’t pleased with his son’s grades last year and wanted them up. The distraction of the Triwizard Tournament was no excuse.

By the way Snape talked about it when assigning him, Sherlock knew that he was not only annoyed by Father and Son, but Lucius was definitely blaming Snape as much as Draco. And was not happy about it.

Two weeks and four days later, Sherlock was at his wit’s end,

Honestly! How could one kid be so _insufferable_?

Two-and-a-half weeks and Sherlock was ready to confess his sins to the Devil himself -- though he wasn’t sure how many he’d have to add by the end of his sentence.

Snape, on the other hand, hadn’t been this entertained in years. It was working, too; Sherlock and Draco’s egos were dampening (at least, for the moment) and Draco was improving significantly in Potions. But, mostly, it was entertainment for him.

He was having a stressful year (a war was on the horizon, for Merlin’s sake), he deserved to take his mind off it all.

And, oh, how it’s delivered.

From sarcastic comments to frustrated fists slamming on the desk. At one point, Snape even had to magic a pillow onto the desk before Sherlock could slam his head on it.

But, as entertaining as all this was, he could tell Sherlock was at his breaking point.

The fixed frown that had set in two weeks ago was chipping away, making the dark circles under his eyes and clenched jaw all the more apparent as he handed out the results to Gryffindor/Slytherin class’s last quiz.

Sherlock passed silently between the work stations as Snape rattled on about how disappointing their marks were -- the Gryffindors more so than the Slytherins, of course.

Snape gave some version of this speech about twice a week; and Sherlock was completely numb to it.

His frantic mind constantly searched the room for something to preoccupy him. However, the cold, dungeon room was thoroughly and vividly logged into his Mind Palace. 

Every inch, down to the last nick in the floor, was logged and stored away. The only blank spots involved the inner portions of Snape’s desk and even he, braizen to a fault as he was, didn’t dare try to fill in those blanks.

He turned his attention to the other students.

Most of them were not listening, Ron Weasley and the Blonde Nightmare included. 

Hermione Granger couldn’t decide if she should be paying attention to Snape’s lecture or anxiously watching Sherlock until he placed her results in her hand. ( _Why does she insist on wasting so much energy pretending like she doesn’t ace everything? Sherlock thought. She’s so predictable and boring!_ )

Harry Potter was trying to covertly comfort Neville Longbottom about his low grade. To be fair, his marks were improving now that Moody had taken him under his wing and encouraged him to pursue Herbology -- his favourite subject.

Moody….

There was something off about him that Sherlock just couldn’t put his finger on. And not for the reasons that put Snape on edge. That much was easy to figure out. No, there was something else….

As Sherlock fell further into his own thoughts, a very bored Draco Malfoy saw an opportunity.

Hoping to catch his pestering “tutor” off guard, he pointed his wand at Sherlock’s shoes from under the desk so Snape mightn’t see.

“ _Colloshoo_!” he hissed under his breath.

Faster than even Snape could have foreseen -- for, of course, he was watching everything unfold as he continued his lecture -- Sherlock whipped his wand out of his robes and wordlessly repelled the hex. It rebounded, hitting Crabbe square in the chest. The lumbering, Slytherin goon thrashed around, shouting as he tried to move his feet, which were stuck to to the floor.

Sherlock rounded on Malfoy, but Snape got between them. He glared at his Potion’s Master, daring him to reprimand _him_ over Malfoy.

“I’m done!” Sherlock shouted.

Without another word, he threw the rest of the results into Pansy Parkinson’s startled arms, grabbed his bag from the back, and stormed out, letting the door slam behind him. He didn’t care how much trouble he was in, he’d rather take his chances with Snape and Flitwick than look at Malfoy another second.

The students held their breath as they waited for Snape to inevitably explode. Wondering if he would hunt down Sherlock to kill him now or ambush him later. 

“Ten points from Slytherin,” he finally declared.

The rest of their jaws dropped, but Malfoy’s whole body deflated. “But, sir!”

Snape put his hand up, commanding silence, before returning to the front of his classroom -- falling right back to where he’d left off in his lecture. As if nothing happened, save for the faintest of smirks.


End file.
